


The Rightest Moment

by Keri T (Keri_1006)



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Christmas, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:07:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21886420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keri_1006/pseuds/Keri%20T
Summary: This story is a continuation of The Christmas Closet.
Relationships: Ken Hutchinson/David Starsky
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	The Rightest Moment

**Author's Note:**

> Previously published in the Starsky and Hutch 2019 Advent Calendar.

Hutch stepped out of the shower and quickly dried himself before heading to the mirror. He used a corner of the towel draped around his neck to make a neat circle in the steam, and leaned in closely to examine his features one by one. Then, with intense concentration, he focused on the obvious feature, and the decision that hadn’t been made while he had cleaned earlier. The decision that hadn’t been made while he put fresh sheets and matching pillowcases on his bed. The decision that hadn’t been made in the shower. Now it was staring him in the face and he was almost out of time.

“Okay, do you stay or do you go?” Hutch asked the inanimate object sitting innocently enough under his nose. He ran a finger over the damp bristles. “You’ve been with me a long time now, and I like you. I like you a lot.” Hutch wiggled his nose, making the mustache move up and down. “Yeah, I like you a lot…but I _love_ him, and he’s gonna kiss me tonight.” As he’d been doing for the last five days, Hutch took a moment to be swept away by the anticipation of that kiss. He knew, and didn’t care, that he wasn’t thinking like the highly-experienced man he was. One who had given and received more kisses in his lifetime than he could count. The fact that he had butterflies in his stomach only heightened the sense of awe.

He picked up the razor.

“It’s not like you have to stay gone, or anything. I can always grow you back…hell, Starsky might _want_ me to grow you back.” That thought gave Hutch pause. He believed he’d been thinking about Starsky in this big decision. Thinking that Starsky would prefer to kiss him without any hair over his lip. Considering that Starsky had never kissed anyone with a mustache before, but was that fair? After all, Starsky proposed this kiss without any requests for a close shave. Maybe he was being hasty?

He put the razor down.

“Okay, you get a stay of execution,” he once again said out loud. “But, don’t get too comfortable. If he wants you gone, you’re gone.”

With a happy whistle, Hutch briskly rubbed his hair dry and then went to the sleeping area where his clothes were laid out. Black briefs went on first, followed by black jeans that were just the right amount of snug. He used his teeth to remove the sales tag from the new shirt he’d bought while shopping for Starsky’s Christmas stocking, and put it on. He moved to the mirror to button the shirt and considered its color. Red. Bright red. Festive red. Christmas red. The color made him smile.

Hutch neatly combed his hair, and then decided to stop fussing with his appearance and go make sure the living room was ready.

Starsky had already decorated the room, and the tree was twinkling softly in the corner and looked beautiful. The coffee table was draped with a red cloth and would be the perfect backdrop for the champagne bucket and hors d'oeuvres. Something wasn’t right, though—the ambiance he was trying to achieve needed something more—or something less. Hutch nodded and decided there was too much light in the room. He turned off the lamps, and paused to take it all in. The tree looked even better now in the darkened room, but was it too dark?

Hutch had no idea how long he stood there trying to decide on the right mood lighting to please Starsky. He was grateful, though, when inspiration struck and he found in a cupboard just what the room needed: candles. He placed them strategically, with the three largest ones going on top of the piano. All he had to do now was get the champagne and food from the kitchen and wait. Wait for his partner. Wait for his kiss. Wait for his life to change?

That last thought weakened his knees, so Hutch sat down. Would it really change, he wondered? Or would it be the natural progression of a dozen years of love? Because that much he knew, Starsky was the love of his life. If he was honest with himself, really, truly honest, Starsky had been the lingering shadow behind every love affair with every woman Hutch had known. He’d cared about those women, and some he’d loved—loved a lot—but none had ever owned his heart the way Starsky did.

_For once in your life, Hutchinson, don’t complicate this. Don’t take something simple, and simply beautiful, and mess it up. This just might be the night you’ve waited for your whole life._

With that, he got up and lit the candles, smiling when he noticed his fingers were shaking ever so slightly. The living room was now as perfect as he could make it: soft, warm, romantic, and full of Christmas.

Hutch had taken three steps towards the kitchen when Starsky’s distinctive knock jarred his heart into a quick stutter. _It’s just Starsky… just Starsky. Calm down and let him in._ Hutch resisted the impulse to smooth his hair, but he did run a hand over his shirt to make sure it was neatly tucked in as he headed to the door and opened it.

“Merry Christmas!” Starsky said, and then flashed Hutch a smile so sweet he could feel it in his toes. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve been lookin’ forward to this night.”

“How come?” Hutch asked, and hoped the smile he was giving was at least half as nice as the one he’d received. “Maybe I’d like to hear how much?”

“I can’t tell you ’cause I’m standing outside your door. You get to know, but not your neighbors,” Starsky said. “Care to let me in?”

“Sorry,” Hutch said, slightly abashed. He stepped aside as Starsky gave him another dazzling smile and walked by him. Hutch squeezed the doorknob and wondered if he concentrated hard enough, if he could actually count the number of butterflies doing somersaults inside his belly.

“You can close the door now, Hutch. I’m in.” Starsky took his jacket off while Hutch closed the door. When he turned around and got a good look at Starsky his eyes opened wide. Starsky started to chuckle. “Damn, we haven’t done this in a long time.”

“No,” Hutch agreed. “We sure haven’t. What are the odds?”

“Probably pretty high that one of us…” Starsky paused and pointed at his chest. “Would pick a red shirt to wear on Christmas Eve, since one of us loves the color red. The other one of us complains about the color red—”

“Only on cars,” Hutch said. “I like it on people…” he swallowed and said what he really wanted to say. “I’ve always liked it on you.”

Hutch was rewarded with another sweet smile. “Yeah? Well, I like it on you, too, but you don’t wear red very often.”

“I thought it would be festive,” Hutch said. “Christmassy?”

“Oh, it’s Christmassy, all right, Hutch. And those black jeans are—”

“An exact match for the ones you’re wearing,” Hutch said and laughed. “Mine might not be quite as snug, though.”

“Maybe not, but they look like they’re grabbin’ you close in all the right places.”

Hutch felt a hot blush start on his face, and then a sudden question, equal parts ridiculous and wonderful, washed over him. “Starsky, are we flirting with each other? Really, truly flirting?”

This time Starsky’s smile was a little lecherous. “I’m just admiring the outfit my good lookin’ partner is wearing…but, some might call it flirting.”

“Are we?” Hutch asked. “Are we calling it flirting?”

Starsky didn’t answer for a minute, and his expression became thoughtful. “You know it wouldn’t be the first time, don’t you? I mean, it wouldn’t even be the thousandth time. I love—and always have—flirting with you.”

“Well, yeah, sure, that…sure, but we didn’t know that’s what it was, did we?” Hutch heard the words that were coming out of his mouth, but didn’t know if they were making any sense. He tried for clarification. “Did we know we were flirting? Did you know?”

“I knew, and so did you if you think about it.” Starsky captured his eyes and didn’t let go. “Um, Hutch, are you as nervous as you seem? Do you need a little more time to think about all of this? Five days…maybe it should have been longer?”

Hutch took a step forward and placed both hands on Starsky’s waist. “If it had been five _minutes_ longer, you’d be carting me off to Cabrillo. I know what I want, too, Starsk…but, yeah, I’m nervous. Aren’t you?”

“Nope,” Starsky said, and put his hands lightly on Hutch’s hips. “I know how to kiss. I’m actually excellent at it; you’ll see.”

Hutch laughed and touched his forehead to Starsky’s. “You’re a cocky sonofabitch, I know that.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“When will I?” Hutch asked, heart racing and his breath starting to come too fast. “You started all of this…when’re—”

“Christmas music, Hutch, remember? And champagne…did you buy champagne?”

“You’re really going to set this scene, aren’t you?” Hutch said, and released Starsky’s waist. “Yeah, I bought champagne and I even put it in an ice bucket. You know where the records are, so why don’t you pick some music out while I get it?”

“I’ll do that,” Starsky said, and gave Hutch’s butt a pat and a little shove. “And get the nice glasses, too.”

“I know how to properly serve champagne, Starsk,” Hutch said on his way to the kitchen. “I’m not a Neanderthal.”

“You’re not normally a clean freak, either, but damn…the place looks really good, partner. I mean really good. You even lit candles.”

Hutch smiled to himself, pleased that Starsky had noticed. “Thanks…um, did you find the records?”

“I’m holding Ella Fitzgerald in my hot little hands,” Starsky answered. “We can start there. See where it leads to.”

“Ella can own the evening as far as I’m concerned,” Hutch said, returning to the living room with a large tray. “No one has a voice like she does.”

“Here, let me help you with all that.” Starsky left the records and hurried to Hutch’s side. “Geez, Hutch, you’ve got enough for an army here, and is that salami I see?”

Hutch laughed. “Yes, that’s salami you see, and the good kind of crackers to eat it with. There’s also stuffed mushrooms, and brie, and bacon-wrapped shrimp.”

“Don’t tell my mom about the bacon-wrapped shrimp,” Starsky said, as he slipped one of the delicacies into his mouth. “I’m pretty sure I’m breaking a lot of rules with this one.” Starsky chewed in obvious enjoyment. “God, it’s good, though!”

“I’m pretty sure your mom knows you’re a rule breaker by now, Starsk. I doubt a little bacon would shock her.”

“Then I’ll have another!” Starsky popped one more in his mouth and sighed. “So good! Seriously, though, why so much food? You better not have invited anyone else over to our party.”

Hutch narrowed his eyes. “Not for any amount of money. This is _our_ night. To answer your question, the reason I made so many snacks is that I’m not making dinner, so fill up. Your next dinner will be tomorrow at the Ramos’.”

“I don’t get breakfast?” Starsky mumbled around the food in his mouth. “No Christmas morning cookies or anything?”

“Oh, I might be able to find you some cinnamon rolls, and maybe some scrambled eggs, too, but how do I know you’ll be here in the morning? I didn’t see you bring in an overnight bag.”

Starsky snorted. “Have you ever seen me bring in an overnight bag? Half of my wardrobe lives full time in your closet and dresser, and you own enough toothbrushes and razors to open your own drug store.”

“So, you’re staying over?”

“I’m staying over.”

“Are you going to kiss me now?”

“Not yet.”

“Guess I better put Ella on then, while you eat,” Hutch said, restraining himself from sighing. Restraining himself even harder to not change the direction of this party and do the kissing himself, kiss the bacon right out of—

Starsky interrupted his reverie. “It’ll be soon, though. It’s getting perfect in here. I’ll know the right moment.”

“Cocky sonofabitch,” Hutch whispered under his breath while reading the record’s jacket.

“Uh-huh. Put the music on,” Starsky said, and then sat down on the couch. “Nice and soft.”

“I forgot this song was on this album.”

“What song?” Starsky asked.

“What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve…I learned to play two-handed piano for this song. My mom loved it, and really encouraged me to learn it.”

“Yeah? How old were you?”

Hutch thought back. “Well, it was the first holiday season that my mom and I were on our own, so I guess I was nine.”

“Post-divorce, huh?” Starsky asked. “Was your mom still in her not-ever-gonna-leave-the-house phase?”

“Oh, yeah, that was going strong. I’d leave for school in the morning with her sitting at the kitchen table—she’d usually be in the same spot when I got home.”

“That must have been tough on both of you,” Starsky said. “How long did she stay depressed?”

“I was never exactly sure if she was depressed or embarrassed,” Hutch said. “It was the fifties and divorce was still a big deal—especially when the reason for the divorce got out.”

“Small minded gossip?”

“More like big pregnant belly,” Hutch said, and laughed. “It was pretty obvious when my dad and his new wife—”

“Marion, your step-mother’s name is Marion, and you like her, remember?”

“I like her now,” Hutch clarified. “I didn’t like her then. Anyway, all they had to do was go out to dinner and everyone knew why my dad had flown to Reno for a quickie divorce and an even quicker new marriage.”

“At least you got your little sister out of the deal, and I think we can both agree that you scored higher than I did in the best younger sibling contest.”

They both laughed. “And I learned how to play two-handed piano, and once my mom met and married her new husband—”

“Howard, his name is Howard, and you like him, too!”

“I like him now, Starsky—”

“Got it, you didn’t like him then.”

“Right, I didn’t like him, then, but once he married my mom, I didn’t have to play her sad music anymore and she started to be really—happy.”

“And twenty-five years later, everyone is still happy right?”

“Right,” Hutch said, and looked at Starsky hard. “True love all the way around. The kind that stands the test of time.”

“Can’t ask for more than that in life, Hutch. That’s the brass ring right there.” Starsky stood up and wandered to the Christmas tree. “Is it just me, or is this the prettiest tree in the whole world?”

Hutch joined him at the tree, but didn’t take his eyes off of Starsky’s face. “It’s beautiful. The absolute best.” Starsky brushed his knuckles over Hutch’s cheek, and Hutch saw a new expression on his face. Suddenly, Hutch felt his pulse racing. After all these years he’d had every opportunity to absorb every feature on Starsky’s face. He knew what he looked like sleeping, angry, in pain, joyful…up until this moment, Hutch would have sworn he had known them all, but this one was completely fresh: a combination of confident sensuality, and peaceful contentment. It gave him the opening he needed.

“Starsk? There’s something you should know about me,” he said, and watched Starsky move from the tree to sit down on the piano stool, and now his expression included curiosity. Hutch continued. “I’m a really romantic guy. Maybe even a little sappy once in a while.”

Starsky laughed hard, and Hutch narrowed his eyes. “Hey, no laughing at me!”

The laughter continued for a full ten seconds. “I’m sorry,” Starsky said between guffaws. “But, that’s not a surprise to me. Did you really think that would be a surprise to me? I’ve seen you be romantic to your plants! Stroking their little leaves and all, and using your plant voice.”

“I don’t have a plant voice,” Hutch said, defending his honor in the calmest tone he could manage. “I have a regular voice that knows if you want a plant to thrive, you have to talk to it a certain way. That’s all.”

“It’s a good way; it’s a good tone,” Starsky said. “Now why did you wanna tell me that right now?”

“I just thought you should know that I like things like cuddling on the couch, giving flowers—”

“You always bring me flowers when I’m in the hospital, and I think we’ve cuddled on the couch together, too,” Starsky said. “Again, no surprises yet, partner.”

Hutch shook his head, determined to make his point. “I like giving someone flowers when they’re _not_ in the hospital, and we haven’t cuddled on the couch before. We’ve maybe fallen asleep on it together when we were sitting close, but that’s it. Trust me, when I cuddle a man, he _knows_ he’s been cuddled.”

Starsky broke out into another gale of laughter and Hutch turned bright red. “So, you’ve cuddled a lot of men before, huh? Maybe that’s my surprise information?”

“That came out wrong,” Hutch said, willing his face to stop flaming and grateful the room was dimly lit. “All I’m trying to say is—”

“Hutch. I get it, okay? I get it and I love it, ’cause you know what? I’m pretty romantic, too, and I’m pretty happy to get to show you that now. Come here.”

Starsky reached a hand out, and Hutch took it and held it tightly. He wasn’t sure how many seconds were passing, he just knew that holding Starsky’s hand felt like an anchor securing him, grounding him, filling him with peace. He didn’t move until Starsky gave his hand a little pull. “Come on.”

Hutch moved forward and Starsky stood up. “Sit down on this stool and relax, maybe even play me something two-handed like the musical genius I know you are.” As smooth as silk, Starsky had him sitting and was standing behind him, hands on Hutch’s shoulders. “Come on, play me something—play the New Year’s Eve song. I think I know the words to that one.”

The feel of Starsky’s hands were heavy and hypnotic, and Hutch closed his eyes for a moment, waiting for them—hoping for them—to move and caress. He arched his neck. “Starsk…?”

Starsky leaned in close and Hutch felt his warm breath on his cheek and in his hair, whisper soft; intoxicating. His voice was earthy and rich in Hutch’s ear, “Play for me, babe.”

Hutch didn’t have any sheet music, but he didn’t need it for this song. His fingers knew every note, and he played the opening bars like he’d been practicing for days. Then Starsky joined in.

 _Maybe it’s much too early in the game, but I thought I’d ask you just the same_ …Starsky sang, and nothing had ever sounded sweeter to Hutch. _What are you doing New Years, New Year’s Eve…? Wonder who’s arms will hold you good and tight, when it’s exactly twelve o’clock that night…._

His heart was pounding too hard now, too hard to breathe. Hutch’s fingers stilled and his head bowed. “Starsk…?”

“It’ll be me, Hutch,” Starsky said. “I’ll be the one holdin’ you this New Year’s Eve and every New Year’s Eve to come. You know that’s the way it has to be for us, don’t you?”

Hutch swiveled on the stool so he could face Starsky, and he looked up. “Yeah, I know it. I know it like I’ve never known any other truth before. I don’t understand why it took us so long to get here—”

Starsky laid a gentle finger on Hutch’s lips, then stroked his mustache and it felt so wonderful Hutch was grateful he still had a mustache to be stroked. “Doesn’t matter. We’re here now. This is our time. This is our moment.” And just like that, Starsky’s hands were on either side of Hutch’s head and his lips were on Hutch’s lips, and the world turned upside down, then righted itself with head-spinning speed, leaving spangles of red and gold colors behind Hutch’s eyelids. The colors collided at the same time Starsky murmured something softly and then deepened their kiss. The colors changed to purple and green and the pounding of his heart was so loud.

This was joy. This was the rightest moment of Hutch’s life, and he knew he’d been born to be kissed by this man, and to kiss him back. He got to his feet without disturbing the slow exploration of his mouth that Starsky was doing, and then their mouths relaxed and opened at the same time, and Hutch had his first sweet taste of Starsky. He pulled Starsky as closely to him as he could get, and wrapped his arms tightly around Starsky’s middle. There were words banging around the colors in his head, and Hutch knew he needed to say them. He slowly pulled back, then leaned in again to nibble Starsky’s lower lip. It was plump and damp and wonderful and he had to tell him, but then he couldn’t remember the words.

“Starsk?” he whispered. “I can’t think of the words.”

“What words?” Starsky asked, his voice deep and rough and so sexy that Hutch’s knees wanted to buckle again. “What words do you want to remember?”

“The important ones,” Hutch said, and looked right into Starsky’s eyes, willing him to know what Hutch couldn’t find the words to say. Willing him to read his heart. His heart that had never been this open before. “Do you know them?”

Starsky pulled out of Hutch’s arms, and ran his hands up Hutch’s chest, resting them where the beating was the hardest. “Yeah, I know the words. I know them.”

“Tell me,” Hutch pleaded. “Tell me the words. Say them.”

“You love me,” Starsky said simply. “Those are the words. You wanna tell me how much you love me.”

Hutch nodded in overwhelming relief. “Yes. Yes, I do. I love you so much. I love you so much, Starsk. This is for real? Because this feeling, it’s…it’s…this is us now, right?”

“This is us now, and this is forever,” Starsky said. “I’ve got the only person I ever want to kiss right here, and that plant voice of yours? Well, that’s all mine now.”

Hutch laughed and blinked the wetness from his eyes. “I can’t even share it with Violet? She’s a special orchid, you know.”

“I know, I gave her to you, remember? So, yeah, I guess you can share it with Violet, but I’ll have to draw the line there.”

“Now that we’ve actually crossed the real line together into some kind of crazy, wonderful future, you can draw another line anywhere you want,” Hutch said. “First, though, I have something I want to show you.” He took Starsky’s hand and led him to the sleeping area, then stopped them both at the foot of the bed.

“I have a feeling I should have eaten more than two shrimp,” Starsky said, and grinned. “Plus, I never got any of the salami and we never even put Ella on…I wanted our first kiss to be really romantic, but then your face.…”

“If our first kiss had been any more romantic than it was, I think stardust would have fallen from the ceiling, Starsk. You, uh, you know how to kiss.”

“You’re pretty inspirational, and you know how to kiss, too… so, I’m ready to see whatever you wanna show me.”

“It’s just this,” Hutch said, feeling a surge of confidence, as strong as his desire. He pulled the covers off the bed. “I wanted you to see the clean sheets. I wanted you to know that I wanted this before you kissed me. I planned for it. I’ve imagined it a thousand times this week.”

Hutch wished he could paint on canvas the look that crossed Starsky’s face. “So have I, partner,” Starsky said softly. “A thousand times.”

“I almost shaved,” Hutch confessed. “I came really close.”

Starsky looked confused. “Your cheeks felt pretty smooth to me; guess you didn’t need a shave.”

“Not my cheeks, my mustache.”

“That would have been a mistake,” Starsky said. “I love your mustache. I’ve got plans for your mustache!”

Hutch laughed, and wondered if he’d ever felt this good before. “Do I wanna know what those plans involve?”

“No, I think I’ll surprise you,” Starsky said. “Too early to give out that kind of information…but Hutch?”

“Yeah?”

“You know I love you, right? You know that?”

Hutch nodded. He knew, he had always known, but damn it was sweet to hear the words. “I know… So, we’re gonna get undressed now, right?”

“Right,” Starsky said, and started to unbutton his shirt. “It’s time to get undressed.”

“And we’re gonna get in that bed together,” Hutch continued, and started to unbutton his own shirt. “And neither one of us is going to have a damn clue what to do.”

“Right,” Starsky agreed. “Not a damn clue.” He pulled his shirt off and reached for the top of his jeans. “There’s been lots of things before that we haven’t known how to do until we, well, until we did them.”

“That’s true,” Hutch said, and tossed his shirt into the corner. “Together, we’ve always been good. Better than good.” He moved to where Starsky was standing, bare-chested and very beautiful. “Plus, I’ve always done my best kissing in a horizontal position.”

“Now, your best kissing belongs to me, and only me,” Starsky said, and captured Hutch’s eyes. “God, you’re beautiful.”

Hutch smiled and unzipped his jeans. “Merry Christmas, Starsk.”

“Merry Christmas, partner.”

The world slipped away, when they were both bare and Hutch maneuvered them onto the clean sheets, where they started to figure out exactly what to do.

The end


End file.
